Hawaiian Shirts In The Electric Chair by Scott Laudati - HTML preview

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when we were young

rocks

were the thing

to throw.

it taught me

a lot about

glass.

(sand and soda)

Sometimes

the rocks

would sail through, nice

and clean, and only

a small

hole, the size

of a golf ball, or

baseball, was made, like

bullets spraying

across a stone

wall. other times

the glass

 

would shatter

off in

huge chunks, like

countries falling from

a map, and hit the floor –

it made the sound of

a wave crashing

on a

dirty beach.

i guess the more

chemicals, the shittier

the glass

 

car windows

were my favorite, especially

the windshield. we

dropped boulders from

trees, we

put rocks

into

potato guns,

we even

ran and cannonballed,

but the windshield

never broke

 

open, and

nothing

ever got through.

instead

these beautiful designs

formed, rings over water, a

thawing pond,

a map of the galaxy.

and after

we were

sweaty

and bleeding

we’d look at our abstraction.

turned a used car lot

into a modern art gallery

sometimes

we took pictures

 

in high school, they made

us take

art class. We

learned a lot

about

the old masters, and

they were good

but

there always seemed to be

some element

missing.

the mad flash

the knife or the canvas

it never got through.

 

THE ASSIGNMENT

was to be creative “you

can do anything

that inspires you”

so

we got canvas

and threw paint

and pissed

on it

dumped our burning cigarettes

someone even

jerked off on it

but

it was still lame

and nothing to be proud of

 

we took mushrooms

to get deeper, and

like mushrooms usually do,

we went out

into

the woods.

i only

remember spiderwebs,

big webs,

lactating

silk

like pure

fresh squeezed milk.

they were so lush

i wanted to eat them.

so i did

 

i woke up in a hospital two days later

with a fever,

delirious,

and covered in

huge

red bites.

no memory,

but they told me

i had said, “the

webs look

just like

broken glass”

my friends were inspired.

after they called

an ambulance they went

to smash a car

window, and bring the

windshield in

for our

“inspiration project”

but we weren’t

nine anymore-

too much taco bell

and cigarettes

will cut “fleeing the scene”

to “complying

with the law”

very quickly.

everyone who didn’t

go to the hospital that night

went to jail

 

our teacher was fired

the next monday. Her

replacement had

a psych degree and

we spent the

rest of the year

gluing

pasta together.

we were all safe after that

but none of us

went on

to make something

anybody would ever stop and look at